For the whole trip they walked in silence, yet it was silence only in the physical sense. In fact, their silence was very much reserved for their mouths, for their brains were spewing out questions and answers at rapid fire. It took a lot to make Sherlock talk, however it took even more to make him concentrate, and tonight it seemed as though John had succeeded in the latter. For once in Sherlock's life he was very much in the moment, without anything physically dragging him down. There was no conversation to uphold, nor any hurt feelings to take into consideration. John had no way of knowing what Sherlock was thinking about, and on a night like tonight there really were a million other things to be pondering. And yet Sherlock was very much present, he was grounded, and he was happy to have a companion such as John Watson. He thought of the man next to him, occasionally looking over so as to better formulate the picture that was strolling along side in his head when John was just too far out of reach. His shoulders were a bit slouched, adding only to the height difference between them both, and his hands were deep in his pockets. He looked contemplative as well, and Sherlock could only wonder just what was on his mind. They walked in rhythm, not entirely having synched due to their different stride lengths. Somehow John never lagged behind, and somehow Sherlock never got too far ahead. They walked as if they were meant to stay shoulder to shoulder, and Sherlock was almost satisfied with himself as he strolled. He could get used to peaceful evenings such as these, in which not a word was said simply because it didn't have to be. A presence he could enjoy without any sort of conversation or physical intimacy, a man he could appreciate just by being near. It was an odd feeling, so drastically different from one he would have felt last night or even this morning! Yet his idea of John had changed in his mind, it had completely flipped around from one of distaste to one of admiration. He saw something in this boy that went beyond his expectations of a human his age. John was a boy who should be focused on school and love and puberty, who was instead risking his life to spy for a cause that was much greater than himself. It was the sort of nobleness that Sherlock didn't expect in a man that had seemed to be nothing more of a pest a little bit before. And even tonight, the act of walking him home, an act that Sherlock wouldn't have expected nor would have wanted. Yet tonight it was appropriate. Tonight it felt...kind. When they arrived at Sherlock's house he was a little bit disappointed to be there. However with the lights on in the sitting room and the sound of music coming from the open windows he knew that the soldiers had returned, and bringing along with them was the man of Sherlock's wildest fantasies, fantasies that might be reenacted tonight, contrary to Molly's suggestions. Well how could he linger more on this sidewalk, when life itself was waiting for him inside?
"Thank you for that, um, unexpected act of gentlemanly conduct." Sherlock muttered, watching John quietly as the boy lingered a bit on the sidewalk outside the house.
"Yes of course, anytime. Are you feeling better? Head alright?" John wondered carefully, almost as if he was trying to take it upon himself not only to play soldier, but doctor as well.
"My head is fine, thank you for asking." Sherlock muttered with a little bit of a chuckle. "You worry too much about me."
"I really don't." John debated with a little chuckle. "I'd say compared to Molly I've really come across as merely subpar. Maybe even negligent."
"Well I'm not comparing you to Molly. She's known me for my whole life, whereas you've only known me for a couple of days. I'd say that earns you some sort of congratulations, a mere stranger, suddenly taking so much care for another." Sherlock pointed out, studying John as the boy averted his eyes, shrugging towards the ground as if intending to hide some sort of blush in his cheeks.
"You're special, Sherlock, it would take a fool to ignore that. I feel as if in a way I'm obligated." John admitted with a bit of a mutter. Sherlock smiled at him, hoping that such radiance would draw the boy's attention back up to his face, where it belonged. And yet a smile wasn't doing it, a smile wasn't helping, and so like the attention hungry boy Sherlock was he lifted his fingers ever so softly to the bottom of John's chin, raising his head up so that he could at least look into his eyes. It was a soft moment, an intimate moment that Sherlock could feel in his heart. For whatever reason staring into those brown eyes moved Sherlock in a way that Victor's blues could never do. Victor lit passion into his heart, whereas John alighted something more than that, something more permanent. John lit purpose. Sherlock let his fingers drift away as soon as he decided John could hold his head there by himself, and for a moment it was all they could do but stare at each other successfully. It was all they could do but smile.
"Thank you, John, for walking me home. Have a nice night." Sherlock muttered. John smiled at him confidently, he smiled and nodded and seemed to not have a thing to say for once in his life.
"Yes, not a problem. I'll see you tomorrow." John muttered finally, and with that he turned away and started back the way they had come, standing just a little bit taller now, as if he couldn't bring himself to disobey Sherlock and slouch his head anymore. He walked off with a skip in his step, not unlike the lovesick one Sherlock had trotted along to this morning. Sherlock stood alone on the sidewalk for a while until John faded into the distance, smiling to himself sincerely. It was an odd sort of feeling that John escalated in him, so unlike the one that Victor created. It was as if Victor was only good for his looks, for the now, and John was good for his personality, for forever. Yet while Victor was easily in his grasp he might as well go for it, for that was the very thing he had been looking forward to all day and all night. He wanted to appreciate such an opportunity the best he could, and with that he bounded up onto the porch, trying to channel the excitement that he had felt when he first left it this afternoon. He tried to recreate the hope that had been burning in his chest; he tried to remember what sort of melody his heart had been singing. It wouldn't be too hard to remember, it wouldn't be too hard to resurface. When Sherlock walked into the sitting room the men were collected as they always were, and tonight as he always did, Sherlock joined in late. He sat across the couch from Victor, purely because for some reason Victor had seated himself in the middle of two of his comrades. And so instead of brushing elbows they were forced to merely trade glances, most of which were from Sherlock's end, trying to catch the man's attention. He wanted to coordinate tonight the best he could, so as to avoid any sort of unnecessary suspicion. Last night had been due entire to Victor's own dedicated, however ill placed it had been, and tonight it would be up to Sherlock to ensure their meeting didn't arise any unnecessary suspicion. And yet that would be impossible if Victor never caught his eye, and it would be even more impossible if he didn't get Victor alone in the sitting room after the men had cleared out. Needless to say Sherlock's mind was far from the poker game today, in fact he didn't even bet because his head was not where it needed to be. He couldn't concentrate, nor could he gamble or even consider scanning the other men for their poker faces. He just kept looking at Victor, hopeful that this time Victor would be looking back. Yet the moment never came, victor was much too invested in the game tonight (he won two rounds) and by the time dinner was called Sherlock had almost entirely given up. It wasn't until he grabbed at Victor's arm that he knew the two could actually have their overdue conversation, and as promised the soldier lingered behind once more.
"Victor, hi." Sherlock managed once the rest of the soldiers had left. Victor merely chuckled at him, laughing as if he was conversing now with a younger child who was just now beginning to learn the steps of life.
"Hello Sherlock." Victor said with a grin, obviously unsure of how to continue such a conversation.
"I wanted to see you again, tonight?" Sherlock muttered.
"We're seeing each other now, are we not?" Victor presumed, and Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what to say to that either. Was that a joke, or an airheaded observation that completely missed the point?
"I mean, well something a little bit more private? Maybe you could meet me in my room after dinner?" Sherlock suggested a bit shamefully, for even as he suggested such a thing he knew that the connotation of those words would be enough to shock his audience of one. However Victor merely smiled, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder as if he was proud of his daring.
"Yes of course. If you'll wait for me, I'll arrive when I see it best." Victor agreed with a grin.
"That sounds wonderful. Thank you." Sherlock muttered quietly, unable to hide the eagerness that was shining through his smile and his gaze. It was an honor, truly, to have such easy access to a man who would promise to hold his heart.
"Now they'll be waiting for us, will they not?" Victor pointed out, steering Sherlock with a rather authoritative grip into the hallway so that they could arrive in the dining room together. There was no commotion on their lateness, no one thought to notice so no one thought to care. They instead all focused in a very satisfactory way at the dinner that was placed before them, without a care in the world of what had happened just before dinner, and what was going to happen afterwards. Meanwhile, Sherlock couldn't help but tremor in excitement. He knew that the dinner table wasn't the proper place to sit and think of what might be happening later on, especially if he wanted to keep such dealings a secret. However he just couldn't help himself, he looked at Victor across from him and he just envisioned a scenario that was incredibly different! He imagined that they were alone, strewn out on a bed, he imagined that they were entangled and vulnerable... Not the sort of thoughts that were appropriate for a family dinner. Oh but he was so excited he could hardly focus on meager things like the chicken that was presented before them! Sherlock couldn't bring himself to eat, either. He couldn't bring his stomach to settle long enough for it to digest anything. The butterflies in his stomach were fluttering about madly, to the point where it was all he could do but double over so as to hide his smile, and tap his feet anxiously against the ground. Maybe Victor could sense Sherlock's eagerness, maybe he couldn't. Either way he gave no further indication, almost as if he was dedicated to trying to make sure no one noticed that there was some sort of connection. If Victor was obviously overjoyed, at least to the extent that Sherlock proved to be, then people could very easily piece together the connection. He was being smart, or at least Sherlock could only assume he was. The other option was ignorance, that or indifference, and both were a terrifying and rather humbling thought to consider. Sherlock didn't want to have to think about what would happen if Victor didn't share his enthusiasm, and judging on last night's events he was almost positive he would never have to live with such a humiliation. Victor proved to be just as eager and just aggressive as Sherlock was, and in a way maybe he was even more so! Purely because he wasn't making the first move, almost as if he was too afraid to scare Sherlock away with his anxiousness. When dinner was finally over Sherlock excused himself to his room, getting a quick nod of collusion from Victor before he felt that he was safe to leave the scene. He knew that Victor would come for him; he knew that he would arrive, and so Sherlock first set himself to making sure his room was up to par. He knew that no matter what he did his room would still prove to be an unthinkable mess, however he wanted to at least make it comfortable for the man to occupy for a night, if he got that lucky. And so Sherlock first made the bed, tucking the sheets so tightly over the mattress it looked to be the handiwork of his own mother, and then arranged the pillows in a pleasing way along the headboard. Next he cleaned up whatever laundry still lay strewn about, throwing them into the laundry bin and deciding finally that was enough. For a moment Sherlock looked around, realizing now that the appropriate cleaning was finished and therefore he had a lot of time to kill. He didn't know how soon or how late Victor would be, he made it sound as though he was going to be as discreet as possible, however, and so Sherlock had to assume that meant sometime after their poker game. Which was fine, however it left Sherlock with a long wait. And what to do to occupy that wait...math! Of course, the math his mother had assigned for him to do, that test he had to correct in order to get a retry. That would undoubtedly be long and boring enough to occupy himself for the while. Trigonometry still proved to be the only thing that would drain his brain enough to the point where he forgot what he was even excited for. And it proved effective, for he got the entire test done effortlessly, and just as he was going to check his answers there was a knock at the door. A knock that could only mean one thing, a knock that could only mean the arrival of one man. Instead of merely calling for Victor to come in, Sherlock knew that it would be a lot more personal if he went over and answered it himself. This way he would be close enough to Victor that when they entered the room it wouldn't be too hard to get things going at the appropriate pace.
"Coming!" Sherlock called quietly, racing towards the door and pulling it open to reveal the very man he had been waiting for, standing in the dimly lit hallway with a grin.
"Very prompt today, aren't you Sherlock?" Victor wondered with a pleased little smile, lingering in the hallway as if he wasn't going to enter without direct permission from Sherlock.
"Yes well, I don't want to waste any unnecessary time I suppose. Come in, please." Sherlock offered, stepping aside and letting Victor make his way into the room. Sherlock closed the door after him and tried to lock the door as discretely as he could manage, however there was still that treacherous click of the lock that would make it ever so obvious what he was up to. The metallic click got Victor's attention, for he turned and raised a presumptuous eyebrow, however he said nothing, and Sherlock appreciated his silence. There really was nothing to say at this point, at least not from Sherlock's perspective. He rather hoped Victor's mind was on one track as well, that would make tonight a bit more effortless at least.

"We haven't talked much since last night." Victor pointed out. 

"We haven't talked at all since last night." Sherlock agreed. "At least not on the subject."
"The subject...yes." Victor nodded, looking a little bit uncomfortable as he stood almost out of place in Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock thought he looked beautiful tonight, just as he always did, however tonight he looked especially so. Almost as if the promise of what could happen next was illuminating the beauty and drawing out the love interest.
"It's not...well it's alright, right? You're not regretting it?" Sherlock clarified with a moment of fearful numbness.
"No of course not, Sherlock you really do underestimate yourself if you think that I'd regret such a thing." Victor chuckled in reassurance, making Sherlock breathe a sigh of relief and force a smile.
"Good." He muttered weakly. This was awkward, he could feel it getting uncomfortable, almost to a point where he just wanted to rush up and kiss Victor just to get rid of all the muttering and small talk.
"I noticed you walked home with the milk man today." Victor muttered, looking up at Sherlock in an almost inquisitive sort of way.
"You saw that?" Sherlock asked, not in a defensive way, just in a curious way.
"Through the window, yes. Hard to ignore, when my chair was facing the window." Victor admitted with a grin.
"He's nothing, he's...well you don't have to worry about him. A friend would be a stretch when talking about John." Sherlock admitted with a bit of a grin.
"I never assumed I had anything to worry about. I just had never met him, that is all." Victor admitted with a shrug. Sherlock smiled weakly, knowing that while this was perfect conversation there still was something almost funny about it. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, he felt an uncomfortable feeling in the air and he wasn't sure what it was. The questions aimed at John, as if Victor was prying into that boy's life just as he was prying into Victor's. Was there suspicion circulating already that they were under surveillance, was that what General Gage was warning the soldiers of at their meeting today?
"He's not here much; he just happened by when I was talking with Molly, that's all." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"Why'd he walk you home?" Victor wondered.
"Why are we talking about John?" Sherlock shot back, feeling at once that whatever conversation they were having had to be stopped abruptly.
"What else have we to talk about?" Victor clarified with an innocent little blink.
"I mean...well we don't really have to talk about anything if you don't want to." Sherlock muttered a bit shamefully, feeling his face heat up as he averted his eyes towards the ground. He heard Victor chuckle a little bit above him, however the squeaking floor boards alluded to the fact that he was moving closer all the same.
"Especially eager tonight, aren't we Sherlock?" Victor wondered with a little grin.
"Is that...well I could be less eager, if you don't like it?" Sherlock muttered quickly, trying to get two sentences out at the same time and instead making himself look like an uneducated fool.
"No Sherlock, eager is fine." Victor assured, suddenly materializing right in front of Sherlock so that he could pick up his head and smile.